


black and blue

by restlesslikeme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asphyxiation, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlesslikeme/pseuds/restlesslikeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s always Sam’s fist that connects with his face first, and once Dean can taste iron, can feel the swell of a bruise growing under his skin, then he can hit back. You don’t hit your baby brother, but if he hits you first you can sure as hell fight tooth and nail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	black and blue

It’s never Dean who throws the first punch.

He’ll try to incite it, snap at Sam, ignore his pleas of _“Dean, let’s just talk about this”_. He’ll make sure they both keep it bottled up until it threatens to swell over the top, until he’s kneeling next to Sam’s bed whispering, _“Please, I need it, please”_ and they can both go out back behind the motel where the Impala is parked, far from where anyone will hear them.

It’s always Sam’s fist that connects with his face first though, and once Dean can taste iron, can feel the swell of a bruise growing under his skin, then he can hit back. You don’t hit your baby brother, but if he hits you first you can sure as hell fight tooth and nail.

The crack of fists and teeth and the stretch of muscles and the purple blue of desperation is reserved to these back parking lots, and it’s only here that Dean can taste Sam’s breath hot and panted against his skin, only here that he can feel his back being pushed into pavement with Sam’s knee pressed against his hip, the weight of his body pinning Dean hard, too hard, too painful and just right. Sam’s hands around his neck, if he’s lucky, squeezing just enough, cutting off his air supply until his vision swims and he’s left with just _SamSamSam_ and maybe this time he won’t let go.

Sam’s a lot bigger now than he was when they started, taller and still just as angry, still just as plagued by the lost feeling that makes up the marrow of Dean’s bones too. They’re evenly matched, though- Dean is smaller but still solid and he moves faster than Sam can, knows his brother well enough to anticipate his hits. 

It doesn’t matter who wins. It’s about Sam’s hands on him, the frustration that feeds into both of them, about the way Dean can gasp Sam’s name into the night and lose himself in the give and take of pain. It’s about the bruises that cover his ribs the next morning, the split lip that Sam nurses for days afterwards.

They don’t talk about it. They never talk about it. It would be impossible for their dad not to notice but he says nothing, tells them to get their shit to the car, daylight’s being wasted. And later, when John’s driving and Sam’s asleep for his turn in the front seat, Dean sits in the back and presses his fingers into the angry dark purple bruises covering his arms and silently moves his lips in the shape of his brother’s name.


End file.
